


There’s a danger in dreaming

by NamelesslyNightlock



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Actual God Loki (Marvel), Addiction, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Astral Projection, Attraction, Dark, Declarations Of Love, Dependency, Desire, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Feels, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Injury, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel)'s Punishments, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Link, Mind Sex, Praise Kink, Rescue, Sex, Smut, Telepathy, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Torture, Twisted, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Relationships, Warning: Loki (Marvel), Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Maybe it was unhealthy. Maybe it was madness. But for his god? Tony would doanything.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 31
Kudos: 270





	There’s a danger in dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SalamanderInk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/gifts).



> This is not... exactly what you asked for Sal, but I hope you like it nonetheless xD  
>   
> And thank you **Rabentochter** for once again rescuing me when I needed it ❤︎

It wasn’t a voice.

Not really.

The whisper that Tony heard, the taunts that crept through his nightmares… they weren’t spoken in a _voice_ , not entirely. It was more of a _feeling_ , a sense of being… watched.

It also wasn’t particularly pleasant.

At least. Not at _first_.

No one likes to feel that they’re being watched. Not in their most vulnerable moments, not when no one else should ever look. No one likes to _feel_ another person’s gaze when they’re supposed to be alone.

Tony kept looking over his shoulder, casting his gaze about. He struggled to fall asleep, no matter how many locks he put on his door, no matter how many security measures he ensured were in place.

There was always that… _pressure_ , like a touch of curiosity mixed in with a dash of interest.

But it.

Well.

It never… did any _harm._

Tony couldn’t even truly pinpoint when it was that the presence first appeared, he wasn’t sure when he’d first felt it. It must have come upon him slowly, quietly– creeping in until it was so entrenched Tony couldn’t tell the difference.

It was only natural then, wasn’t it?

That Tony would grow used to it?

That he’d start to see the presence in his nightmares not as threatening, but soothing? _Protecting?_

That he’d start to look forward to feeling that comforting press against his own mind, to _know_ that while he was in the darkness, he was never alone.

And as time went on, as the nights became his favourite moments, as he found himself _yearning_ for the heady sensations of having someone else inside his head—

Tony realised he wasn’t just growing accustomed to it.

He was growing _fond._

He’d always been alone, for as long as he could remember.

To have someone else with him, whenever he needed, whenever he wanted– _that_ was something he’d never had before, and something that was so very, very easy to grow dangerously addicted to.

Because the more that Tony _wanted_ to hear the whispers, the more that he wanted to feel his silent companion’s presence, the stronger those things became—

And _oh,_ but as the faint feelings became emotions, as light pressure became an actual sensation of _touch…_

Surely, it couldn’t be considered unusual that Tony started to want _more_.

His silent companion, the one who would never leave or betray.

The one who was _always_ with him, always whispering comfort, always pressing close, always making Tony feel warm and cared for and—

The dreams were no longer nightmares.

 _Oh,_ but the _feel_ of it, that first night that phantom hands whispered over Tony’s skin, stroking with a gentle tenderness that had Tony whimpering for more. He writhed in his bed, his hands gripping the sheets, not told with words but _understanding_ that if he tried to touch himself it would be taken as an insult.

And when he woke, his eyes flying open, expecting that it had been a dream—

The touch was still _there,_ like the ghost of a memory still making him hard, still making him _ache_ with desire.

A ghost that he hadn’t even met.

But no matter how often he wished he could feel _them_ properly, no matter how much he yearned, craved, _begged—_

“Please,” he whispered, head back in the sheets, thighs shaking as his hips thrust up to meet _nothing._ “Please, who _are_ you?”

A soft press of amusement. The feel of a faint breath against his skin. A brush of phantom fingers over his thigh, and the touch of lips to his cock—

As Tony cried and cursed and pleaded, there were many terms that curled over his tongue, that fell from his mouth.

_Bastard._

_Fucker._

_Sweetheart._

_Lover._

None of them seemed quite _right_ , but he didn’t have anything else.

Sometimes, Tony wondered if he were going mad. Sometimes, he wondered if there was even anything left to _wonder_ about. He yearned for something no one else could see, desired the touch of one who possibly only existed in his mind. He’d never wanted something so much in his life, his every waking moment was spent trying to solve the conundrum, was spent _waiting_ for the next time his lover would appear—

_Anthony._

Tony shuddered, a shiver running up the length of his entire body, his hands stilling on the project he had been working on.

“You’re talking,” Tony whispered. “You… you called me—”

_ My _ _Anthony._

A trail of a hand down his back, the press of a mouth to his throat—

Tony let out a sigh, melting back into it, enjoying every second– and yet wishing for more all the same.

As much as he loved it, craved it, _needed_ it… it wasn’t _enough._

Nothing more was said– but Tony closed his eyes, and he thought about how much he wanted it. That voice– it was deep and low, somewhere half way between a growl and croon, and _fuck,_ Tony wanted to hear it again.

He wanted to hear it in his dreams, in his mind, in his bed. He wanted to hear that voice say his name over and over and—

_That’s it, Anthony. Keep going._

Oh, _fuck._

A hand Tony could not see cupped the bulge in his pants, and Tony pressed into the touch with a gasp. It was not as solid or as firm as it would have been with his own hand, the touch not _truly_ there—

But oh, Tony wanted it to be. He wanted, he wanted, he _wanted—_

_Yes._

The more Tony yearned, the more he could _feel_ – a whole body against his back, the strokes through his pants, the breath at his ear—

_That’s it, my sweet. The more you desire me… the more strength I have._

“Good,” Tony gasped. “Lack of desire is certainly not going to be a problem.”

Tony was rewarded with the sound of a low chuckle, something that almost made him see white– but he managed to hold on, not wanting to waste a single moment of _this._

“Can I… ask, something?” Tony asked, the formation of words quite a feat when his breath came in pants and his every thought was of the – being? – playing his body so close to the edge.

_Yes, my Anthony?_

“Will you tell me your name?”

The phantom hand that had been almost leisurely stroking him paused, and for moment, Tony worried that he had overstepped. But then—

The movements resumed– with more force, more _purpose._

_If you swear to me one thing– if you give me one promise, then I shall entrust you with my name._

Tony whimpered– though his answer would have been known even without the pressure that was slowly building in his groin, the impossible warmth spreading through him, the feel of hands on his body when there were none to be seen—

 _“Anything,”_ he moaned.

A chuckle, a touch, a press of… lips? To his cheek.

_You must promise me that you will speak it. That you will whisper it every morning, and every night. That every time my name passes your lips, you will think only of me._

Tony didn’t think he’d ever made an easier promise—

And when a whisper was pressed into his skin, cool breath dancing over his ear– when that phantom hand seemed to press _through_ his leather pants and against sensitive skin directly, the heat burning brightly through every vein—

Tony gripped the workbench in front of him lest he collapse with the force of his release—

And he came with the cry of a _name_ upon his lips.

—𝑥—

Every morning.

Every night.

Every waking second that Tony thought he could spare, there was one word that passed his lips more than any other.

_Loki._

He whispered it under his breath, he traced it into the table. He spoke it in his mind, he all but _prayed_ to that name every moment he could.

And every time he did, he heard a sweet croon, he felt a surge of affection.

Tony adored it, he bathed in it, he could never get enough. The loving words, the tender caresses, the whispers of praise and the touches that pulled him forward through even the worst of days—

Maybe it was unhealthy.

Maybe it _was_ madness.

But he knew, oh he knew that for Loki?

He would do anything.

_Anything—_

Anything at all.

So when he felt a light tug on his chest, when Loki started whispering directions, when he told Tony that he needed his help—

Tony did not even question it.

He went without a thought, following Loki’s voice across an ocean and two continents. His suit was more than capable of getting him wherever he needed to go, and for the one who made him happy _,_ for the one who filled him with feeling, for the one who _loved_ him?

Loki could have asked Tony to fly to another planet, and Tony would have done it without question.

When he reached the entrance to the cave, Tony paused for a few long moments. There was a bit of bad history, between caves and him, and he didn’t feel all that comfortable walking into one not knowing what was waiting for him in the darkness—

_ I _ _am waiting for you, Anthony. Come inside._

Tony swallowed, and stepped forward.

The cave was deep and black, and the sound of his footsteps echoed off the too-smooth walls. The cave was not a natural one. It had been carved out of the stone by something _powerful._

Yet, Tony met little resistance– he simply continued walking, until he came upon an open chamber lit by a pale golden orb that floated impossibly in the air.

But the light did not hold Tony’s attention for long– for in the centre of the room was a man lashed down to a large, jagged rock, his spine arched, his dark hair spread over the stone, his limbs and head held still. And above him, carved from the same rock as the cave was a massive serpent, its stony fangs dripping constant beads of liquid down onto the man’s face.

Tony frowned as he stepped a little closer. The liquid appeared to be nothing but water, yet…

The man’s face was scarred, terribly so, the skin around his eyes a red mess of broken flesh. His eyes were pure white – he was likely blind – and his mouth was stretched wide in a silent scream.

Tony felt like screaming himself, his heart aching, breaking, _shattering,_ because this, this could only be—

“ _Loki?”_ Tony cried out, leaning over him with shaking hands. “Oh, Loki—”

Loki twisted as Tony reached out to touch his shoulder, and so pulled his hand back as quickly as if he were burned.

“How?” Tony asked, his voice cracking. “How is this even _possible—”_

_I am a god, of course._

Loki’s voice was the same as ever, and it seemed so surreal, standing before his broken body and yet hearing the same croon that had brought Tony to oblivion oh so many times.

_I am many things at once– but, I am always yours. Release me, my love. Free me, and you will have everything that you could ever desire._

Tony didn’t waste a single moment.

The chains were strong, but they were _old._ So very, very old– older than anything Tony had likely seen in his life. He didn’t want to think about what that _meant_ , a least– not beyond the fact that it meant the chains were far easier to break than they would have been when they were shiny and new.

As it were, it only took the one shot with his repulsor—

And then the chains were pulling free, and the god – _Tony’s god_ – was rolling from the surface of the rock that he had likely been tied to for several hundred years.

He remained there on the ground for a few moments, no doubt feeling the shock over being able to move again after so very long staying still. Tony crouched down opposite him, wanting to stay close, yet respectfully remaining quiet.

But as the god’s breathing evened, as he stretched out his fingers and tested his knees, Tony couldn’t hold silent any longer.

“Loki?”

“Anthony.”

Loki’s voice was a rasp from _years_ of disuse, but it was still the same _voice._

“Yes,” Tony said. His fingers trembled as he reached out, searching for a place to _touch_ that wouldn’t cause pain– but his voice remained firm as he spoke once more. “ _Your_ Anthony.”

Loki grinned, his teeth baring harshly below his ruined eyes– and he reached up to take Tony’s hand in his own, apparently not needing to see it to know exactly where it was.

“My Anthony,” Loki echoed, his free hand burying into Tony’s hair. “Yes. Yes, you are.”

Once, Tony might not have liked that, much. But as it were, he only let out a contented sigh as he leaned into Loki’s touch, relishing the scratch of fingers over his scalp.

But Loki was still injured, something that became apparent as he let his hand fall, seemingly too tired to keep the movement up for long.

Well, shit. No wonder. How long had it been since Loki had last _ate?_

And with that in mind, there was only the one question Tony wanted to ask.

This time, Loki didn’t flinch when Tony reached up with one hand, ghosting his fingers over Loki’s irreparably scarred skin.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

“The others,” Loki said, his smile turning into something ugly– and yet, it still drew Tony’s gaze. “And they _will_ get what they deserve. Now that I am free, they and everyone else in the Nine will come to know just what a mistake they made.”

The fingers on Loki’s free hand crackled with green lightning as he curled them into a fist, and Tony’s eyes widened—

But then, Loki softened, and he squeezed Tony’s hand.

“But, not yet,” Loki replied. “For now… I have other matters to be attending to. A promise to keep.”

Tony’s eyes widened, and his lips parted as Loki leaned forward.

“You did well, my love,” Loki murmured, the sound of it causing Tony’s head to spin. “So very, very well.”

Loki drew him close, even in his weakened state still strong enough to stop Tony from being able to do anything about it– not that he would have wanted to. Even just the thought of Loki’s body, his real, physical form pressing down against him– the thought of Loki’s strength, his weight, his _power…_ it was enough to make Tony moan, to make him lose sight of everything else.

And when their lips pressed together properly for the first time, as Tony willingly gave himself over to Loki in every way possible—

As he begged and moaned and _writhed_ , every part of him Loki’s for the taking, every bone in his body, every nerve, every inch _needing_ Loki as much as he needed air—

Well, it felt like a _vow_.

A vow Tony knew that, regardless of circumstance or fate, he would always, always keep.

 _Forever_.


End file.
